


Part One: A Demon

by alpineshoodratt



Series: A Demon & An Angel [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Abuse, Assault, Attempted Murder, Bisexual Castiel, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Blood, Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Control, Control Issues, Demon Blood, Demon Blood Addiction, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Hurt Dean, F/M, Faked Suicide, Fire, Foster Care, Gay, Gay Dean, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Murder, Pain, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Castiel, Protective Ellen, Rape, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rehabilitation, Scars, Serious Injuries, Sexual Assault, Stabbing, Suicide, Surgery, Victim Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpineshoodratt/pseuds/alpineshoodratt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I heard you have a date with Fergus.” Castiel asked monotonously.<br/>Dean looked up in surprise.  “Yeah”<br/>“I do not think that is wise.”<br/>Exchanging confused looks with Sam, “Why’s that?”<br/>“He is not trustworthy.”<br/>“Ok… I’m just going to dinner, to pacify him so he’ll back off.”<br/>“It will not work”<br/>“What won’t work?”<br/>“He will not ‘back off’”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester was 14 years old when his father went to prison for murder. His mother, Mary, died in a fire when he was just 4, rumors and suspicions being his father’s meth lab in their basement exploded, but authorities failed to find enough evidence to prosecute.

They moved around a lot, Dean taking on the responsibility of caring for his younger brother, Sam. Not too many 4 year olds know how to make a formula bottle or change a diaper. When his dad, John, was actually around, he was either asleep or too high to know he even had children.

Then came ‘Demon’s Blood’. ‘Demon’s Blood’ was a new, red drug injected directly in to a vein like heroine. John became addicted fast, using every last cent he had to get his next fix. Dean was 10 when this science experiment showed up and that’s when he began to shop lift and pan handle to feed his 6 year old little brother.

They hardly ever went to school, John too high to register them at all the odd places they migrated to. Dean would find a library, it was warm and he didn’t have to worry as much about he and Sam getting kidnapped or raped or worse. There, he taught himself to read, then taught little Sammy as well. He was a good big brother, the best you’d ever find.

One night, after ransacking the little shack they were squatting in at the time, John walked to his dealer, Azazel. He begged for a hit, just one hit. Offered the guy a blow job, promised to pay him back, whatever he wanted, he need just one more dose. Azazel refused, Dean’s father, out of his mind with addiction, killed the man and shot up.

John was arrested for murder; his sons were discovered and immediately put in foster care. Thankfully, they were placed together, Dean insisting Sammy would completely shut down without him. A nice couple, Ellen and Bobby Singer, lived in an old farm house, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Ellen had a daughter, Jo, from a previous marriage and they took in troubled kids of all kinds. The Winchester boys were currently their only charges, Dean immediately respecting Bobby’s no nonsense attitude, Sammy cautiously affectionate with Ellen, playing with Jo like a typical 10 year old.

They had clean, warm clothes, never went hungry and started school a quarter of the way through the year. Luckily enough for his baby brother, Sammy shared the same fifth grade class as Jo so he wasn’t as uneasy as he would’ve been alone. The Winchester’s social skills were lacking, to say the least.  
Dean registered at the local high school, ninth grade freshman. Introduction at each class began by the teacher predictively asking him to tell the class a ‘little bit about himself’. Dean refused each time, taking his assigned seat and burying himself in whatever new textbook presented to him.

He was quite a bit behind the other kids, couldn’t read as well, math was difficult, and PE was a nightmare. Dean had been undernourished for so long, his ribs stuck out and he wasn’t able to run or throw a ball as well as the other students. Teasing started almost immediately, but Dean had developed some very thick skin the last 10 years, there was nothing any of these punks could say that would upset him.

Sammy made friends fast, spoke excited at dinner every night about school and how he loved his teacher. He wasn’t as far behind the other fifth graders as they thought he would be, credit going to his big brother for teaching him everything he could. Dean didn’t make friends. Sat quietly in class, did his homework, ate his state issued free lunch alone, and found solace in the library once again.

Maybe it was a little sad that his only friend was a sassy librarian named Ms. Mosley. After the first few weeks of pulling the boy out of his shell, she insisted he call her Missouri. He liked her; she was bossy and made him laugh. He felt like he hadn’t been able to laugh in a very long time.

Dean made sure to help out around the Singer house as much as possible, show his appreciation for having a roof over his head and food in his stomach, something most people take for granted. He cleaned without being told to, helped Bobby fix cars and organize his books. The man had an incredible amount of books. As much as Ellen told him he didn’t need to, he would smile and continue.

Bobby had a good friend, Jimmy Novak. Jimmy owned a farm nearby, always dirty and smelling of manure or some odor Dean couldn’t place. Mr. Novak brought his son, Castiel, over with him a few times. Dean had seen the guy at school, sophomore, always wearing a tan trench coat, combat boots and his black hair messy, uncombed. The idea may have been for Dean to make a friend his own age, but Castiel didn’t talk much, and when he did it was in a deadpan voice. Dean was pretty sure he wore eye-liner too.

So, he would nod at the kid in the hall, other than that, he let it be. By the end of January, Dean was 15 years old. He had graduated from the ‘weird foster kid at the Singer house’ to the ‘silent gay kid in the library’. He never hid his sexuality, never advertised it either. It just wasn’t anyone’s business. 

In February, Valentine’s Day of all dates, a senior named Fergus McCloud entered the library, interrupting Dean’s solace by sitting down next to him. The younger boy looked up for a moment, and then returned his attention to the book he was reading.

“Whatever bet you made with your friends, just tell me what it is. I’ll let you win and you can leave me alone.” The freshman murmured.

“Bet? What kind of bet would I make? I’ve just come to say ‘hello’” the older boy smirked.

“Your friends, bet each other they can get my phone number, or agree to go on a date with them, some stupid attempt to embarrass me. So, if you need my middle name or something trivial like that, I’ll tell you and you can go.” Dean answered, never taking his eyes of the text.

“I apologize for my companions; they are quite infantile at times. I’m Crowley.” He declared with a strange accent, offering his hand.

Dean exhaled loudly, looked up suspiciously before returning a hasty handshake.

“You’re Dean… Winchester, right?”

He nodded; truly wishing this guy would stop screwing with him and disappear.

“No much of a talker, huh?” 

Sighing audibly, “What do you want, Crowley? I’m not bothering anyone here.”

McCloud chuckled, “I do, in fact, want your phone number and a date.”

“Tell your friends I gave you my number and agreed to go out with you. I’ll back you up if they ask and you’ll win your bet.” 

Crowley’s smile faded, “Bloody hell, Dean. I’m not involved in any sort of wager. I would like to get to know you better, talk to you, and take you to dinner. Nothing maniacal. Are you this distrustful with everyone?” 

“Yes. Yes I am.” 

“Pity. You’re a good looking guy, sexy as hell. Won’t you give me a chance? One date. You decide you still hate me, I’ll leave you alone forever.”

Dean stared at the young man for a stretch of time, studying for evil intent. He looked down at his book, answering in a voice just above a whisper, “I’ll go out with you. Please. Please don’t screw with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” Gifting a soft smile before rising from the table. “Saturday? 6pm?” 

The younger boy nodded, frowning slightly. He still didn’t trust the guy. Crowley was a senior, pretty popular at that. Stocky, brown hair, brown eyes, the beginnings of a beard. Dean had no inkling he was gay, or even bi. He could be setting himself up for humiliation.

 

Joining his friends in the hall, all of their eyebrows raised in question. 

“What was that about?” queried Alastair

“Nothing for you to be concerned with. If any of you assholes fuck with the Winchester kid again, I’ll cut your throats. Understand?”

All three were shocked in to agreeing. Ruby and Meg exchanged ‘WTF’ looks and Alastair simply trailed behind McCloud as he strolled away.

 

The rest of the week went by without incident, Saturday morning found the Winchester boys working on Sam’s science project. Sam the mind, Dean the muscle. The kid was too smart for his own good, powering a light bulb with a potato was beyond Dean’s realm of knowledge.

Mr. Novak came by to sit with Bobby, drink a couple beers and argue politics. Castiel wandered in to the kitchen, watching Sam and Dean experiment with the root vegetable. Same trench coat, same boots, same messy hair and that was definitely eyeliner.

“I heard you have a date with Fergus.” Castiel asked monotonously.

Dean looked up in surprise. “Yeah?” 

“I do not think that is wise.” 

Exchanging confused looks with Sam, “Why’s that?” 

“He is not trustworthy.” 

“Ok… I’m just going to dinner, to pacify him so he’ll back off.”

“It will not work” 

“What won’t work?” 

“He will not ‘back off’”.

“Look dude, if you have some insider information you want to share, spill it. Otherwise, it’s really none of your business.” 

“You are correct,” Castiel stood, “it is not, in fact, my concern.” 

He left to join his father in the living room.

“Wow, what was that about?” Sam whispered loudly.

“I don’t know. The guys weird. I mean, weirder than me. I’ve never even heard him speak that much before.” 

“Maybe he likes you, he’s jealous of you going out with that Cloud guy.” 

Dean chuckled, “It’s ‘McCloud’ shrimp, and he just doesn’t like Crowley for some reason.” 

“Wonder what the reason is….” the 10 year old murmured as he carried his cardboard masterpiece to their room. 

 

Dean wanted to call Crowley and cancel. He was sick, his brother was sick, his dog was sick, any excuse to not to go. Unfortunately, he hadn’t the foresight to get the guy’s number. He was stuck. Apparently, everyone in town knew where the Singers lived, so Dean sucked it up, dressed as he usually would, jeans and a Henley, did nothing more than comb his hair.

Crowley crept up the Singer’s long, gravel driveway at exactly 5:59pm, dust coating the red, 1965 Mustang. Dean might have respected his choice in vehicles if he had the slightest reason to believe the guy did any of the restoration himself. Crowley knocked on the door, politely introduced himself to Bobby and Ellen, laying eyes on Dean.

“Ready to go?” 

The younger boy nodded, stepping towards the door as Bobby’s gruff voice interrupted, “Curfew is midnight, boy. One minute late and I’ll have you hauling scrap for a week.” 

“Yes Sir” Dean grinned. He had absolutely no intention of keeping company with ‘Fergus’ for a full 6 hours. 

No thank you.

Crowley opened his door for him, “I’m not a chic” he pouted.

“No, of course you aren’t. But I am a gentleman by nature. You’ll have to forgive me” he smirked.

The drive in to town was awkward, Dean picking at the hem of his shirt until Crowley turned down the radio. “I thought we would dine at my mother’s restaurant, Rowena’s on Baltimore Drive. Have you been?”

“No, I’m more of a McDonald’s kind of guy” Dean murmured.

“Well, I hope you don’t think less of me, our meal is complimentary. You can order absolutely anything you like.”

Pulling up in front of the restaurant, Crowley handed the keys to the valet as another attendant opened Dean’s door for him. The younger boy had only seen stuff like this on TV; he felt more than a little nervous in the fancy building, maybe he should’ve worn something nicer…

A red-haired woman in a tight black dress promptly embraced his date, kissing the air on either side of his face; it took a hell of a lot of self-control for Dean not to laugh out loud.

“Mother, this is my friend, Dean Winchester. Dean, this is my mother, Rowena McCloud”

“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. McCloud.” Shaking her hand politely

“It’s Ms. McCloud, but please, call me Row. You are just darling, aren’t you! Come, Fergie, I have you set up in the corner booth.”

She sashayed in front of them as Dean leaned over to whisper, a sinister smile on his face, “Fergie?”

Crowley wrinkled his nose in distaste, “She only calls me that because it drives me nuts. As sweet as it sounds in your voice, repeat that horrid nickname again and I’ll keep you out late so you must haul scrap.” He smirked. 

Dean chuckled softly, sliding across the leather seat at the corner table. Candle burning in the center, cloth napkins and actual ‘silver’ silverware at each place setting. 

Yep, definitely should have dressed nicer. Crowley sported black slacks and a crimson button up, Dean wouldn’t admit it to the young man, but he looked quite handsome.

Menus placed in front of them, drink orders taken, Dean studied his dinner choices. He had never even heard of half of the items listed. Grew more and more uneasy by the minute, starting to think this was the humiliation part Crowley had planned for him.

“Too many choices, squirrel? It’s hard for me to decide and I eat here all the time. Would you like me to order for you?”

It was something old-fashioned sexist men used to do for their dates. Poor, indecisive women who couldn’t possible think for themselves. Dean didn’t care. He would rather have Crowley choose his food than risk mispronouncing something. He was out of place as it was.

“Yes, thank you.” 

Crowley seemed a bit too happy about that. He ordered, as they sat babying their beverages, the older boy started the ‘date interview’.

“So, how long have you been living with the Singer’s?” 

“Since early November.” 

“Where did you live before?”

“All over” 

“I see…” 

“Crowley?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Why, exactly did you ask me out?” 

“I told you, squirrel, you’re good looking and sexy as hell. I’m very transparent. No hidden agenda.” 

Dean nodded, “You’re accent is different, where are you from?” 

“Scotland, actually. I moved to America at age 12. The accent has always warranted undue attention.” 

An awkward silence ensued, thankfully dinner was served promptly. Whatever Dean was eating was delicious, he attentively watched his table manners, something he only recently learned from the Singers.

Crowley appeared pleased as he watched his date enjoy the meal. Insisting on desert, something called tiramisu, which Dean devoured. Leaving the restaurant, another fake hug and mimicking kisses on his cheeks from ‘Row’, Crowley asked, “What would you like to do now?” 

“Go home?” Dean suggested.

“But it’s only 8:00pm, dear Dean. We have four hours before you’re required to return home.” 

“I know, but… I’ve actually never been on a date before. And I don’t know what you’re expecting of me but I’m pretty sure I’m not willing to do whatever your other dates do.”

“You aren’t anything like my ‘other dates’, I have no expectations of you this evening. Just the joy of your company. If you truly wish to go home, I’ll take you. I’d really like to show you something before then. Give me a little more time?”

The valet pulled up, Dean entering the passenger side with the man holding the door open again, and he reluctantly nodded, “Ok. What do you want to show me? Better not be a dead body, dude.” 

“Bloody hell, Winchester! What horrible movies have you been watching?” Crowley feigned disbelief.

Laughter.

Dean laughed with someone other than his family or Missouri. It was nice.

The Scotsman took them to the outskirts of town, an assembly of abandoned warehouses. Pulling in to a cement parking area, weeds growing plentiful between the cracks, Crowley shut the car off before gathering a blanket from the trunk.

Eyeing the red and black plaid material, surveying the complete lack of, well, everything. “Is this the part where you throw battery acid in my face and lock me in a cage?”

“I seriously need to have a long chat with the Singer’s about your viewing habits, squirrel!”

Rolling his eyes, “Crowley, why do you keep calling me ‘squirrel”’?

“I like squirrels, quiet, busy little things with pretty tails. Just like you. Now, follow me, I promise there will be no battery acid or cages involved. You have my word as a gentleman.”

Smirking a bit at the comment about his ‘tail’, Dean followed his date through an empty building, up a set of stairs and out on to the roof. Crowley lay the blanket down reverently, holding his hand out to the younger boy to join him. 

“Won’t we get in trouble for trespassing or something?”

“No, my father owns this block of buildings. We’re safe from prosecution.” 

“Your family owns a lot”

“Yes, I suppose they do. Now, sit here and close your eyes” 

That suggestion wiped the smile completely off Dean’s face.

“I don’t think so”

“Come now, nothing bad will happen. Don’t you trust me?”

“No. No I don’t. I trust 4 people in the whole world and one of them isn’t you.” 

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

“Try for me. Sit and close your eyes and just try to trust me, just a little bit” 

Dean took a moment to fidget, look around again before exhaling dramatically and lowering himself to the blanket. Cautiously closing his eyes, he waited.

“Now,” McCloud whispered softly, “Lay back. Nothing bad will happen. Just lay back on the blanket.”

The younger boy fought the urge to open his eyes, taking a deep breath, reclined back until he rested flat.

He sensed Crowley lean back next to him, “Squirrel, open your eyes” 

He raised his lids to find stars. Millions and millions of stars. Stars you couldn’t see from town, the lights were too bright, too much interference. All those burning diamonds were clear as crystal out here. 

Dean felt…small…insignificant…humbled.

“Beautiful” he breathed.

Crowley, next to him on the blanket, had not so much as glanced at the sky. He studied the boy next to him, cataloged each facial expression, every reaction.

“Yes” he agreed. “Absolutely beautiful”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the next few weeks, the senior classman drove the freshman back and forth to school every day. He and his friends ate lunch with the boy and, somehow, Dean ended up with a standing date on Saturday nights. Crowley usually took him to Rowena’s, still ordering for him. He would find something romantic and unusual to do. Sometimes they met up with Alastair, Ruby and Meg, bowling, catching a movie. Crowley laughed proudly when Dean annihilated Alastair at pool.

Crowley walked Dean to the door at 11:53pm. Lights from the kitchen casting a shadow over the front porch. 

“Someone protective is waiting up for you” Crowley smiled

“Everyone is probably waiting up, watching the clock on the microwave. I’m not the only one with trust issues, my friend.”

“Am I?”

“Are you what?” 

“Your friend?” 

Dean exaggeratedly mimicked an internal debate, “Yes. I think you are.”

Crowley moved closer, cupping the boy’s face with one warm palm, “May I kiss you, my friend?” 

“Do good boys kiss on the first date?”

“No, absolutely not. Good boys shake hands and say ‘good night’”

Dean leaned forward, kissing the older boy softly on the lips, “Thank you for the stars” he whispered, pulling back, gifting one last sweet smirk before entering the house.

Dean passed through the kitchen, the long way around to his room, finding Ellen pretending to read a book at the table. Smiling knowingly, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple,

“Don’t worry, Momma, I’m home.” Heading upstairs in the dark, skipping the creaky step so he wouldn’t wake Sammy or Jo.

Ellen blinked a few times before she let her joy filled tears trail down her cheeks. Sam had started calling her Momma months ago, mostly because Jo did and it was less confusing for him. Hearing the endearment from tough, untrusting Dean, overwhelmed her heart. 

 

Monday morning, Dean trudged down the gravel path to wait for the bus, only to be intercepted by Crowley’s bright red car.

“Hey, good looking. Need a ride?”

“I’m not allowed to take rides from strangers, mister.” 

“I have candy….”

“Well, in that case….” 

Dean lowered himself in to the passenger seat, grinning. “Thank you. You make a special trip all the way out here for me?”

“Nah, had to dump the body of the last guy I burned with batter acid and locked in a cage.”

“Ah, I see. There are some very good hiding spots out here….” 

They bantered back and forth all the way to MHS, parking in the student lot; Dean thanked Crowley again for the ride and veered off towards the opposite entrance.

“Where are you going?” 

“I always hide in the library before first period.”

“Not anymore. Come with me, we’ll hang out in the senior hallway until the bell rings.” 

“Crowley, you’ve been really nice to me, and I appreciate it, but I have no interest in keeping company with the people who’ve made it their job to torture me the last 4 months. It’s ok, really.”

“Dean” the senior’s voice turning serious, “No one will ever say a single negative thing to you again. I promise. They’re insecure; they make fun of what they don’t understand. Just give it a try, ok? Trust me, just a little bit…..?”

Dean gazed longingly towards his usual entrance, then back at Crowley. Sighing heavily, “Ok.” 

Crowley was right, no one insulted him, or laughed. No one even glared, just a few glimpses of curiosity. Dean had no idea how much pull Crowley actually here. Walking an odd, skinny freshman through the senior hallway, not one person showed the least bit of animosity about it.

The bell rang and Crowley had no other choice but to let Dean out of his sight. The 9th grader and the 12th grader had no classes together, so they wouldn’t see each other the rest of the day.

At least that’s what Dean thought.

Sitting alone at lunch, four trays simultaneously dropped to the table around him. Crowley, Alastair, Ruby and Meg, made themselves at home. Ruby and Meg, snickering about what some unfortunate girl was wearing, Alastair and Crowley discussing plans for college. Dean remained quiet, made no attempt at joining either conversation as he ate his lunch.

After lunch, Crowley followed him to his locker, “Hey, don’t even think about running off after school. No more bus for you. I’ll drive you home.”

“Crowley that’s really sweet of you, and I appreciate it, but it’s so far out of the way….” 

The young man interrupted, “Dean. I get the feeling you’re not used to people being nice to you. That’s a pity, so let me be nice, ok? No strings, no expectations, just one person being kind to another.”

“Ok,” the younger boy whispered, uncomfortable. Crowley pecked him hastily on the top of his head, hurrying off to his next class.

As agreed, Dean met Crowley in the parking lot, riding home in the Mustang. On the way, he discovered Crowley wasn’t exactly a spoiled rich kid who got whatever he wanted. He worked for his mom, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, bussing tables. Sometimes his dad paid him to help clean new properties he purchased. The money Crowley had, Crowley earned. Dean respected him more for that.

 

Over the next few weeks, the senior classman drove the freshman back and forth to school every day. He and his friends ate lunch with the boy and, somehow, Dean ended up with a standing date on Saturday nights. Crowley usually took him to Rowena’s, still ordering for him. He would find something romantic and unusual to do. Sometimes they met up with Alastair, Ruby and Meg, bowling, catching a movie. Crowley laughed proudly when Dean annihilated Alastair at pool.

Occasionally, Crowley would pick Dean up early on a Saturday afternoon, take him shopping in the city. Dean would always protest any money spent on him, Crowley would always respond with the same ‘let me be nice to you’ reasoning. Jeans he picked out for Dean were a little tighter than the ones he usually wore. Shirts were shorter, giving just a glimpse of skin above his waistline.

Ellen and Bobby weren’t too thrilled with Dean’s change in wardrobe, but they usually kept their opinion to themselves. Crowley was a good kid, treated their foster son like a prince. If he dressed a little different, well, that was part of growing up.

6pm on a Saturday, the usual time for Crowley to pick his boyfriend up for their date, he stepped in the house to discover Bobby, Jimmy and Castiel visiting in the living room. Dean came downstairs, looking perfect in his skinny jeans and tight black t-shirt, “Hey, babe. Ready to go?”

“You look ravishing, squirrel. Good night, Mr. Singer.”

“You boys behave.” Bobby teased.

Dean was accustomed to Crowley opening his door for him, when the older boy went to the driver’s side, sliding in behind the wheel, Dean timidly opened his door and took his seat. 

“Babe? Is something wrong? Are you…mad at me or something?”

Crowley’s knuckles were white, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“What the hell was Castiel Novak doing in your damn living room?” 

Dean had never seen Crowley mad before, “His dad is a friend of Bobby’s. They come over all the time.” 

“Castiel Novak is in your house, with you, all the time?” he spat

Anxious enough to consider getting out of the car,”Um….yeah….but it’s not like we hang out or anything. We don’t even talk. He sits with his dad and plays on his phone, I’m usually in my room. Crowley, what’s wrong?”

McCloud took a few deep breathes, swallowed, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just, I saw him there and I got jealous. Couldn’t stand the thought of him being there with you.”

Dean leaned closer, guiding Crowley’s face towards him with a soft palm, “Babe, he’s not there with me, he’s with his dad. I’m with you. Only you, Crowley. Only you.”

Crowley pulled Dean by the back of the neck, edging in for a kiss. It was all teeth and tongue and lips, possessive and a bit rough. The younger boy accepted it, berating himself for making the older boy insecure. 

Crowley drove them in to the city to watch a musical. Dean dreaded it, whining to his boyfriend that it wasn’t his kind of thing. He wasn’t proper or sophisticated. A quarter of the way in to it, when the barber started slicing throats and the baker chic began cooking human pies, Dean was on the edge of his seat with his mouth wide open. Crowley watched his date, not the play, with a satisfied smirk on his face.

 

Spring Break, the young couple spent every day together. Crowley found waterparks, museums, aquariums, even a paint ball course. Saturday night, the weekend before school would resume, the Mustang parked in another empty lot, they made out in the back seat.

It’s not like they hadn’t done this before, several times actually. Just kissing and heavy petting, some nasty suggestions from Crowley just to see his squirrel blush. Guiding Dean’s hand down to his crotch, Crowley whispered huskily, “Please, sweetheart, just stroke it.” 

Dean tried to pull his hand away, Crowley left his heavy on top of it. “I’ve been so good, baby. I haven’t touched another soul since our first date. I need this. Don’t make me beg.” 

The younger boy studied his boyfriend’s face with wide eyes, he looked so sad. He was so nice to him, so sweet, never asking for anything in return. Dean could do this for him. What was the big deal? It was like masturbating, it was a hand job, not sex. Not really.

Dean kissed Crowley tenderly, running is soft pink tongue over his lips. Without looking down, he unzipped his slacks, pulling the erection out through the split in the front of his boxers, and began to caress it so gingerly, fingertips tracing barely-there lines up and down the shaft. 

Crowley broke their kiss, laying his head back and moaning sinfully. “Oh, god, baby. Yes, just like that.”

Encouraged, Dean continued, increasing pressure just a bit, forming his hand in to a circle, stroking up and down, twisting lightly as he reached the head. Precome leaking, he used it to lube his way, slick and warm, pumping faster as he listened to his boyfriend pant and curse. Crowley came with a grunt, thick white stripes painting across his very nice plum button up. 

Dean wiped his hand on his jeans, without thinking. “Babe, I stained your shirt” he apologized. 

Crowley laughed, “Fuck this shirt,” as he struggled out of it, remaining in his white undershirt, “That was amazing, baby. God, Dean, you make me feel so good.” 

 

Mutual hand jobs became a regular date night addition. Dean didn’t mind at all now, especially when it was reciprocated. A month before graduation, he grew anxious about Crowley leaving for college in the fall. He wouldn’t bring it up to his boyfriend, terrified Crowley would use the words ‘see other people’. Dean’s life revolved more and more around the man. McCloud was 18 now, Dean considered that a man. 

One Friday evening, Dean, Jo and Sammy sat around the coffee table, working on a puzzle and teasing one another. Jimmy stopped by, he and Bobby drinking Jack in the kitchen, Castiel flopped down on the couch. He watched the trio with interest, occasionally pointing out where a piece should go.

“No Fergus tonight?”

His deep toned voice interrupted the carefree atmosphere. Jo and Sam looked at Dean. 

“Crowley works Friday nights”

“I see” 

Dean rolled his eyes at the two 11 year olds, resuming the puzzle solving. 

“Must be hard for you” 

“What?”

“Must be hard for you, thinking for yourself Friday nights” 

Jo and Sam gasped, wide eyed at his boldness.

“Dude. What the hell is your problem?” 

“I, myself, do not have a problem. You, however, have become a puppet, a doll, a plaything” 

“I’m going to get a soda” Jo declared suddenly

“Me too” an uneasy Sam, following her out

“I understand you have some deep, dark hatred for my boyfriend, I don’t know why and I don’t care. I love him. I barely know you, so feel free to keep your opinions to yourself.”

“You love him? You love that he tells you what to eat, how to dress, who you can and cannot talk to. You love that?”

“I’m trying to be polite because you’re a guest in my parent’s home. My relationship with Crowley is none of your business.” 

“Samandriel said the very same thing. Ask Fergus what happened to him.” 

Castiel stood and stomped out of the living room and out the front door. 

 

The next night, leaning his head on Crowley’s shoulder at the movies, Dean tried to think of a casual way to ask what a ‘Samandriel’ was. It was an odd name, like Castiel. Sounded like he was an ex-boyfriend, Dean had no desire to discuss Crowley’s ex-boyfriend with him. A twinge of jealousy tightened his stomach, he reached for a handful of popcorn to settle it.

They went back to Crowley’s house. Bobby and Ellen said they didn’t mind him hanging out over there as long as one of his parents was home. Rowena was physically there, passed out on the couch after exceeding the recommended dose of Xanax for the day.

The pair made out in Crowley’s bedroom, exchanged hand jobs, Dean snooping through year books and old photo albums while his boyfriend remade his bed. The year book from two years before, when Crowley was a sophomore, revealed a photograph of another 10th grader from that class. Samandriel Novak.  
Castiel had a brother?

“What kind of crazy name is Samandriel?” Dean asked without looking up from the page, attempting to sound casual.

“What did you just say?” Crowley asked in a low growl, as if he were giving Dean a chance to correct himself.

Dean pivoted towards him, pointing at the school photo line-up, Crowley McCloud just one space away from Samandriel Novak, in alphabetical order.  
Crowley knocked the book out of his hand, before Dean could react, he had the boy pushed up against the wall, demanding through clenched teeth, “Who told you about Samandriel?” 

Dean gave lying his best effort, “I just noticed the name in the book, thought it sounded weird.”

The man pulled him away from the wall, nose to nose, impossible for Dean to look anywhere else but in his eyes, 

“No. Someone gave you that name, Dean. Someone told you, WHO-WAS-IT?”

Crowley was pissed. Not mad, like the time he first saw Castiel in the Singer house, pissed. Dean gulped, took a breath answered so quietly Crowley almost didn’t hear him,

“Castiel. He was giving me a hard time about being with you, I told him I loved you, to leave me alone and he said to ask about Samandriel. I’m sorry, babe. I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know it would make you mad.”

The man released him abruptly. Dean sank to the floor, an overflow of nervous adrenaline making him light-headed. Crowley stood for just another moment or two before crouching down to the floor beside his boyfriend.

“You told him you loved me?”

Dean nodded cautiously

“You haven’t told me. You’ve never said that you loved me” 

Hopeful green eyes met curious brown ones, “I do love you, Crowley. I was afraid to tell you. You’re going to college in the fall, you’re leaving and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I love you.”

McCloud smiled broadly, all remnants of fury completely washed away, just that fast. 

“I love you too, squirrel. Don’t worry about my leaving. You’re the most important thing in my life. We’ll figure it out, baby.”

Spending the rest of the night cuddling and exchanging ‘I love you’s, the subject of Samandriel was completely dropped and forgotten. 

Whoever he was, he didn’t matter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once Crowley was drunk enough not to notice, Dean snuck of to his boyfriend’s room to call Ellen for a ride home. He had just pulled the contact list up on his phone when Crowley burst in,  
> “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he slurred.  
> “You’re drunk and I’m uncomfortable. I’ll get a ride home and we can talk tomorrow.”  
> Crowley snatched the phone out of his hands, “Calling who? Castiel?”  
> Dean blinked a few times, “I don’t even have that guy’s number. I’m calling Ellen.”  
> “No. You’re not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains rape. It is not glorified or romanticized.

Fergus McCloud graduated from Midwest High School in mid-June. His parent’s threw him a huge grad party a few weeks later. Almost the entire senior class was there, Dean the only freshman-almost-sophomore. Crowley had him by his side the whole time, when the drinking started, Dean asked to go home.

“Don’t be silly, squirrel. It’s just a few beers, we’re celebrating.”

“You’re 18, I’m only 15. We can get in a lot of trouble”

“Not if no one knows, baby. Relax. You worry too much” 

Dean watched everyone around him get buzzed, then drunk, then fall on your face blasted. Couple fights broke out, some girl sat in the corner crying and he was pretty sure Alastair and Ruby were having sex on the couch under a blanket. 

Once Crowley was drunk enough not to notice, Dean snuck off to his boyfriend’s room to call Ellen for a ride home. He had just pulled the contact list up on his phone when Crowley burst in,

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he slurred.

“You’re drunk and I’m uncomfortable. I’ll get a ride home and we can talk tomorrow.” 

Crowley snatched the phone out of his hands, “Calling who? Castiel?” 

Dean blinked a few times, “I don’t even have that guy’s number. I’m calling Ellen.”

“No. You’re not.” 

Crowley opened his desk drawer, tossed the phone in and stepped towards Dean.

“You’re going to stay here. With me. It’s my party, my boyfriend should want to be here.” 

“Babe, I did want to be here. But everyone’s drunk and acting crazy, I want to go home now.”

The man leaned forward, kissing Dean roughly, jamming his tongue in his mouth. All the boy could taste was alcohol, he tried to pull away but Crowley kept hold of the back of his head. He started having trouble breathing, jerking his head side to side to escape.

Panting, “Crowley, stop. I’ll stay, ok? I’ll stay right here and you can party with your friends and come back to me when everything’s calmer, ok? All right?” 

The man gazed at him through hooded lids, smiling crookedly, walked to the door. Just as Dean started to sigh with relief, a solid ‘click’ rang through the room.

Crowley locked the door.

Shit.

He shouldn’t have tried to leave. He knew it would piss Crowley off and he did it anyway. 

Shit.

Dean’s boyfriend tugged his shirt clumsily over his head, the boy frozen in place, undefined fear splashing over him like cold water.

“I’ve been so patient with you, my little squirrel. I love you so much. So much, baby. You make me crazy sometimes. I feel like I can’t get close enough” 

Now, he was wiggling out of his pants and Dean backed up against the wall by the bed. 

“C-Crowley? I’m s-sorry. I love you too, please don’t be mad. Ok?”

“I’m not mad anymore, baby. I know how to fix this.”

He was close enough now to stroke Dean’s cheekbones with his thumbs, standing in nothing but his boxers, erection peeking through. 

“Crowley” Dean whispered, speaking slowly “I’m not ready for this. We can do what we usually do. I-I don’t want to do this.” 

“You’re just scared, little squirrel. Everyone’s nervous their first time. Its ok, we’re not doing anything wrong. It’s not wrong if we love each other.”

As Crowley started to pull Dean’s shirt up, the boy began to fight. Struggling against the bigger man. Dean’s growth had stunted, years of malnutrition, Crowley was taller, broad shoulders and fully developed muscles. It wasn’t much of a contest.

Crowley pushed a bare-chested Dean on to the bed, the boy immediately yelling for help and pressing his heels against the blankets, moving himself away. No one would answer his pleas, they were all Crowley’s friends, and they were all drunk.

“Stop, Dean! Relax, it’s so much easier if you relax.” Gripping his pants around the ankles to yank them down.

“Please, Crowley. Please stop. Not now, not like this.” Calling for help had stopped, he was at begging and crying now.

“Sssshhhh.” Crowley forcing a kiss as Dean’s pants and boxers slipped off together. The man straddled him, pinning the hands that were pushing against his chest on either side of his head. Tilting down to catch an ear between his teeth, breathing heavily, “I love you, Dean. Let me have this. Let me have you.” 

The boy whimpered, “I can’t, please don’t make me. Just let me go.”

“Never letting you go, Dean.” 

He grabbed boney hips with both hands, flipping the boy over to his stomach. Instantly trying to push up with his arms, fingers twisted in his hair, his face driven in to the pillow.

He was having trouble breathing, panicking at the thought of being suffocated, he felt Crowley’s erection tracing a path through the crack in his ass. Dean stopped moving, only the unintentional trembling of every muscle in his body continued.

“It’s ok, baby. It’s not wrong if we love each other. Don’t be scared, it’ll be over fast. You turn me on way too much for me to last very long.” Crowley panted, lining up against Dean’s hole. 

The intrusion was swift ,dry and agonizing. No lube, no stretching, no preparation, Dean entertained the thought that he was dying. Crowley was killing him. His screams absorbed by the cushions in his face, the pain intensified with every stroke the man made, tearing flesh only to rub over it again and again. Burning, raw anguish overtook him.

Crowley finished, grunting loudly, collapsing heavily on Dean’s back.

The boy was finally able to move his head, turning to the side gulping in cool, sweet oxygen. The man was whispering in his ear, something about love, closeness, being better now. All Dean could hear was the hammering of his heart in his chest and the pounding in his temples. He pressed his face into the pillow case one more time, wiping off the snot and tears.

Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming as Crowley withdrew. He couldn’t move. He wanted to. He wanted to get up, get dressed and run. Just run. His boyfriend went to the en suite bathroom, returned with a warm washcloth, reverently cleaning the blood and semen from his body. Crowley rubbed circles on his lower back, tipped forward to kiss between his should blades.

“Things will be so much better, now, little squirrel. You and I are as close as two human beings can be. We’re connected. It hurts the first few times, but it’ll get better. We can go slower, take our time. Tonight, I have to get you home by curfew. Get dressed for me, baby. It’s already 11:30pm” 

Dean took a few deep breathes, swallowed hard and timidly raised himself to a sitting position. Bad idea. Pain shot from his back side up his spine. Crowley crouched down, helping him redress as if he were a toddler. He kept his lips sucked in over his teeth to keep from making any pain noises. His boyfriend, took his hand, led him down the stairs, through the jungle of drunken party guests, to the car.

Dean didn’t utter a word all the way home, Crowley speaking softly about how happy he was, how he knew their relationship would be stronger, how Dean had nothing to be ashamed of.

The boy limped to the door, Crowley close behind, his hand resting on the small of his back. He coaxed Dean to face him, kissing him tenderly with a promise to call him tomorrow. Dean watched the tail lights fade through the dust, rotating to let himself in the house.

It must’ve been Bobby’s turn to wait up, the man lay back in his recliner, snoring softly with a book on his lap. Dean smiled sadly, carefully walking up the stairs. Every step was pure torture. He locked himself in the bathroom, turned the shower on as hot as it would go, and sat in the bottom of the tub, watching the water drain red, then pink, and finally clear. He scrubbed himself, head to toe, three times. Water cold, goosebumps raised and teeth chattering, he finally stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Collecting his dirty clothes, blood and come stains settling in his boxers, he simply threw that pair away, hiding it in the trash can under empty toilet paper rolls and used Q-tips.

Careful not to wake up Sammy, he crept to his room, gingerly dressing in old sweats and a loose t-shirt before laying down on his side, curling in to the fetal position and crying himself to sleep. Welcoming any nightmare that wasn’t his life.

 

For the next week, Dean stayed in his room, usually in his bed. He told Ellen and Bobby he was sick, he threw up so many times they believed him. Crowley stopped by the day after the party, bringing Dean’s forgotten phone. Ellen told him the boy was asleep, very sick. After that he texted, called and stopped by constantly. Bobby finally telling him as polite as possible, Dean was seriously ill and would get a hold of him as soon as he recovered. Crowley stopped coming by, but called every hour, texting every 15 minutes. Dean shut his phone off and slept as much as he could. Sipping Nyquil to help escape reality.

4th of July, Bobby, Ellen, Jo and Sammy headed out to the parade, festival and fireworks in town. Dean said he felt better but wanted to stay home. Shuffling around the empty house, picking at left overs in the fridge before returning to the safe haven that was his bed, swallowing the nasty green medicine to help him nap once more.

A few hours later, groggy and hoping most of the day had passed, he sensed a weight on the edge of his bed. Heavy eyelids peeled back to reveal Crowley sitting next to him.

Dean shot up instantly, heart racing, searching the room for help or escape or….something.

“Hello squirrel.” Crowley whispered, tilting his head to the side, studying the boy.

Tears pricked his eyes, swallowing hard he murmured, “Crowley, wh-what are you doing here?”

Stroking Dean’s calf, “I missed you. You wouldn’t answer my calls, or my texts, or come to the door when I visited. I don’t believe you were ill all this time. I think you were avoiding me.”

“Crowley,” speaking slowly, clearly, “I can’t see you anymore.”

Shock and surprise spread across the man’s face. “What?” he whispered

“You knew I had trouble trusting people. I trusted you. I told you to stop, I begged and fought and cried. You hurt me, Crowley. I can’t be with you.”

The man stared at the bedspread for a moment before standing and strolling to the closet. Thoroughly searching the contents,

“Let me tell you about Samandriel. You see, Castiel’s older brother and I, had a secret liaison. At the time, no one knew either one of us was gay, we kept the relationship well hidden from the world, including our parents and his self-righteous sibling” 

Crowley set a pair of jeans and a tight green t-shirt on the foot of the bed, wandering over to the dresser as he continued,

“After seeing each other for several months, I wanted to ‘out’ our affair. Date in public, that sort of thing. Samandriel refused and promptly broke up with me. Well, tried to break up with me. Much like you are attempting to now.”

Adding boxers and socks to the small pile on the mattress, he lowered himself next to it, locking eyes with Dean.

“You see. I do not handle rejection well. I never have. Samandriel, tragically, killed himself. Hung himself in his closet with his own belt. Leaving behind an apologetic note for his father. Castiel was the poor soul who discovered him. Now, you see, Samandriel didn’t write that note, or even hang himself, but he did commit suicide the very second he uttered ‘I don’t love you’.”

Dean stared, eyes wide, as his heart fell in to his stomach. Crowley was a murderer.

“Now, my dear Dean. Best I can tell, Castiel suspects I had a relationship with Samandriel, may even question his manner of death. You? You’ve had a rough childhood, realizing your first love would soon be leaving for college, you fell in to a deep depression. Spending the last week sleeping all the time, moping around the house, hardly eating, barely speaking to anyone, including your family. Tragically, left alone on the holiday, you’ve slit your wrist and bled out in the bathtub.”

Scooting closer, one hand on either side of Dean’s waist, he leaned close to the boy’s face, locking eyes and whispering,

“Do you love me, Dean?”

Never breaking his gaze, Dean nodded. 

“Come, now, little squirrel. I’m insecure, I need to hear affirmation verbally.” 

“I-I love you, C-Crowley. I was j-just scared, you hurt me. I-I don’t want you to h-hurt me again” he breathed, terrified.

“Never again, baby. All right? Now, I’ll pretend we never had this conversation, you’ll pretend my…unfortunate actions at the party never happened. Deal?

Dean nodded hastily, anything to pacify Crowley right now.

“Let’s get you a shower, change in to these clothes, we’ll catch up to your family and join the celebration.” He smiled broadly, offering his hand.

Dean forced a tense grin, allowing Crowley to assist him off the bed, he did what he was told. Shower, clothes, the cologne Crowley liked, sitting cooperatively in the passenger seat of the red Mustang.

 

The couple caught up with the Singers, and unfortunately, Jimmy and Castiel, at the lake for fireworks. Crowley lay out the red/black plaid blanket, sitting with his legs in a ‘V’, Dean resting between them, head lax on his chest. Crowley continued to whisper promises and endearments in his boyfriend’s ear. Castiel sat next to Sammy and Jo, glaring at the pair. Dean caught his full attention once, attempting to convey sympathy and terror at the same time. Castiel’s expression softened, just a tad, before Dean had to turn his full attention back to Crowley.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley slid in to the driver’s seat, slamming his door. Sucking his lips in over his teeth, Dean took a deep breath and got in the car. The man threw the Mustang in reverse, spinning them around and barreling down the gravel driveway.   
> “Crowley…”  
> “Not a word, Dean. Not one single word from you.”

They pretended. 

Pretended Crowley never raped Dean, pretended Dean never tried to break up with him and pretended Crowley never told the ‘Samandriel story’. The couple fell back to their normal routine, Crowley spending his days off and Saturday nights with Dean. Although something had changed, Dean relished the days Crowley worked, looked forward to them. He could spend time with Sammy and Jo, help Ellen in the kitchen or listen to Bobby tell ‘back in my day’ tales. Dean could dress as he liked those days, not watch every word that came out of his mouth and relax, breath.

He avoided Castiel like the plague. Couldn’t have Crowley even suspecting they had spoken, and Dean didn’t trust himself not to ask about Castiel’s older brother, or confess everything his boyfriend told him.

On a late Sunday morning, Dean washing dishes, Castiel playing Monopoly with Jo and Sam. It seemed that guy was over all the time these days. How he wore the trench coat and boots through the hot summer was a mystery. 

A knock on the door, Ellen greeting, “Hello Crowley, this is a surprise” 

Dean turned quickly, whispering loudly at Castiel, “You have to go”

“What?”

“Please, Castiel. Just go out the back door, come around the front like you just got here.”

“Why?” 

Sam and Jo both looked at Dean as if he were insane, maybe he was. Castiel didn’t move, remained still with his brow furrowed and confusion all over his face.   
Footsteps announced Crowley’s path to the kitchen, Ellen must’ve pointed him in Dean’s direction. The boy hastily turned back to the dishes, acting shocked as Crowley entered.

“Hey, baby. Thought I’d surprise you. Looks like I’ve succeeded. Hello Castiel.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, returning his focus to the board game, Jo and Sammy felt very nervous by now.

Dean wiped his hands on a towel, stepped forward to present Crowley with a kiss to the cheek, “I am surprised, and happy to see you.”

“I’m sure. Get changed, will you? I have something special in mind.” 

As always, Dean hurried to obey the man. It was bad enough he found him in the same room as Castiel, asking questions or delay would make things worse.   
Dressed and ready, he checked with Ellen before disappearing out the front door. 

Crowley slid in to the driver’s seat, slamming his door. Sucking his lips in over his teeth, Dean took a deep breath and got in the car. The man threw the Mustang in reverse, spinning them around and barreling down the gravel driveway.

“Crowley…”

“Not a word, Dean. Not one single word from you.”

Dean swallowed, found an interesting spot on the glove box and stared at it until the car came to a stop. Looking out the window at a large, empty field with a single tree in the middle. 

Crowley gripped the steering wheel, knuckles tight, breathing ragged.

“Do you enjoy humiliating me?”

“Crowley, I….”

“I’ve requested time and time again that you not share company with Castiel.” 

“I know, I just…”

The slap came suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere. Dean gasped, instinctively raising his hand to his face. The strike had landed on his cheekbone, just below his temple, making him feel as if his eye would explode. He was too shocked to move, too scared to speak.

“Damn it, Dean! I didn’t want to do that. Shit!”

Crowley twisted to face him, reaching out to cup his face, Dean flinched and pulled back. Crowley looked almost…..sad? 

“I’m sorry, squirrel. You know how jealous I get, I didn’t mean it, OK? All right?” 

Dean nodded, licking his lips and looking anywhere but at his boyfriend.

“Come, I want to show you my surprise.” Crowley led him through the grass, under the solitary tree, to a picnic displayed carefully on that red/black plaid blanket he seemed to always have handy. Dean proceeded to act happy and surprised, ate his food, smiled when he was supposed to, laid his head on Crowley’ chest to watch the clouds.

On the way back, Crowley asked, “What are you going to tell everyone about the red mark on your face?” 

Dean thought for a moment, Crowley was right, everyone in the house would need an explanation. 

“We had a picnic under a tree with low-hanging branches, I wasn’t paying attention and ran right in to one.”

“Good boy, my little squirrel. Very good.”

A soft good bye kiss, Crowley murmuring apologies in his ear, Dean took a deep breath before going inside.

Bobby and Ellen were sitting together on the couch in the living room, looking very serious.

“Dean, we need to talk” Ellen said gently.

Dean looked around the room, as if the reason could be found there, before taking his seat in Bobby’s recliner.

“What happened to your face?” Bobby demanded

“We had a picnic, I ran in to a tree branch, just clumsy and stupid, Pops.”

Bobby’s voice deepened, his ‘no nonsense’ voice. “Don’t lie to me boy!”

“Bobby….I…..”

“Jo and Sam told us you were scared when Crowley showed up, that you begged Castiel to leave suddenly. What’s going on?” Ellen’s concerned mother tone, making him want to apologize for making her worry.

“Sammy and Jo are 11 years old, Momma. I was just caught off guard, is all” 

“Castiel said the same thing: that you panicked and wanted him to sneak out the back door” added Bobby, “Now. You need to tell us what’s going on, why your face is bruising and what, exactly, kept you in bed for a week last month.”

Closing his eyes, he never expected the tear that squeezed out of the corner, he inhaled, and

“I love you guys, as much as if you were my blood, probably more. I don’t want to lie to you but I can’t tell you the truth. Can you understand? Can you…can you just let me fix it?” 

“No, boy. We can’t. You tell me, right now, whatever you’re going through, would you allow Sammy or Jo to go through it too?”

That thought blew Dean away, made his heart physically hurt. “No” he whispered, “I would kill the son of a bitch that ever hurt my brother or sister.” 

“So, you are being hurt?” Ellen asked softly. “Crowley, he hit you today?”

Dean nodded, ashamed and embarrassed, staring at the floor. 

“And he’s hurt you before?” she continued.

Another nod, quiet curses under Bobby’s breathe. “Why didn’t we see it? We should have noticed, should have protected you.”

“No, Pops! No. This is my fault. I make him mad, he gets jealous, and he’s insecure. I-I just…”

“Don’t you dare, Dean. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Now, we know you’ve been dating him for almost 6 months, I won’t believe this just started. You cannot see him anymore.” Ellen announced.

“Momma, you don’t understand. I can’t break up with him. I tried before, he…he won’t….”

“It’s over Dean. I’ll tell him myself. You’re 15 damn years old. The choice isn’t yours anymore.” Bobby demanded. “You understand me, boy? It’s done, it’s over, he’s lucky as hell I’m not digging out my shotgun.” 

“I understand” Dean said, respectively. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t, honey. You don’t need to apologize. Go on up to your room, dinner will be ready in just a bit. I do need to ask you not to answer his calls or his texts. We’ll take care of this. Ok?” 

The boy agreed, climbed the steps, finding Sammy and Jo in the bedroom.

“Geez, Dean! What happened to your face?” Jo exclaimed.

“Nothing to worry about kiddo. What are you two doing?”

“Playing ‘Slap Jack’. Are you mad we told Momma you were scared?” Sam worried.

“Nah, shrimp. You did the right thing. We shouldn’t keep secrets or lie” he proclaimed as if giving some kind of life lesson to the younger kids. A lesson he knew and ignored for months.

 

Bobby and Ellen called Rowena, explained the situation and asked her to ensure her son didn’t contact Dean again. The woman was defensive, telling them her son could never have hurt Dean and they should stay out of the way of ‘true love’. She was no help at all.

Crowley texted Dean that night, the boy wanted to respond. Wanted to explain why he couldn’t talk to him, as sure as he was about ending the relationship, a part of him still felt guilty that Crowley may be hurt.

When the man called the next day, Bobby answered. He illuminated Crowley in very rude terms that he may not see Dean again and why. Crowley attempted to plead his case, apologize, trying to change Bobby’s mind. He must not have known how stubborn Bobby was.

Dean’s phone number was changed, his email as well, closed his Facebook account and filed a restraining order. He didn’t go anywhere alone, Crowley was completely cut out of his life.

By September, when school started again, he returned to dressing the way he wanted to, donating all the tight jeans and revealing shirts to charity. He rode the bus, kept to himself, went back to hiding in the library. Missouri was happy to see him. Dean still passed Castiel in the hall, both offering a wave or an awkward smile. Dean was in 10th grade now, Castiel 11th and thankfully, Crowley’s group of followers had graduated along with him, so the boy wasn’t harassed.

The day before Fall Break, the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday surrounding Thanksgiving, Dean skipped the bus, strolling down to the middle school to walk Jo and Sammy home instead. It was warm for November, Ellen wanted red, orange and yellow leaves for her centerpiece.

Dean waited, hands in the pocket of his hoodie, when he felt something sharp stick in his back, just as an arm came around his waist. Crowley’s unmistakable accent breathing in his ear,

“SShhh, little squirrel. We don’t need to hurt Sam or Jo, do we?”

Sam and Jo. Oh God. “No” Dean whispered, “we can go, wherever you want, we can leave Sammy and Jo-Jo alone. Ok, Crowley? Alright?”

“Good boy, always such a good boy for me.” 

Crowley led him awkwardly to the car, arms remaining around his waist, blade still poking lightly in his back. Opening the passenger door, “Hop in and buckle up, baby.” 

The boy sat obediently, Crowley rounding the car to slide in to the driver’s seat, tucking the knife under his left thigh. Dean kept his head down and his mouth shut. Crowley was on the edge, he was just a step away from losing his mind completely.

Less than a half hour later, the red Mustang pulled in to a familiar parking lot. The empty warehouses Crowley’s father owned. The man exited the vehicle, taking the blade with him, opening Dean’s door to usher him out.

“Remember our first date, baby? Come with me” he offered his free hand and Dean accepted it, face hot, heart racing, he wasn’t sure what they were doing here but he didn’t feel good about it.

Crowley led him up the same stairs, to the same roof. No stars this time, gray, overcast sky with the smell of snow. It was getting colder as the afternoon progressed, sky darkening so early this time of year.

“I fell in love with you that night, while you watched the stars. The wonder on your face, your eyes bright, smile genuine. Perfection, Dean. Absolute perfection. I decided, right then and there, you would be mine and no one else’s. No one else will ever love you like I do, no one else will ever touch you.” He sighed, “I’m going to Scotland, to live with my grandparents and attend university. I can’t take you with me, squirrel. I tried to find a way and it’s just impossible, you’re 15 and a ward of the state. I can’t just leave you here either. Can’t leave you here for someone to find, someone to touch.”

Crowley was staring at the knife, twirling the handle around and around in his hand. Dean picked up on where this was going, the threat he made on the 4th of July, Samandriel, suicide.

“Crowley. I can wait. I can wait for you. You’ll go to college for what? 4 years? By then I’ll be 19, no one will be able to stop us from being together. I’ll wait for you.”

Crowley smiled sadly, “You say that now, but someone will find you, squirrel. They’ll see what I see and want what I want. I can’t live with that. Can’t accept the idea of you with anyone else.” 

The blade cut through is left forearm before he even registered Crowley had finished talking. Instinctively covering the wound with his right hand and crying out in pain as he backed away.

Crowley stepping towards him with every retreating movement. “It’s better this way, Dean. You’ll be safe. You’ll go to sleep and no one else will ever hurt you again, not even me.” 

“Crowley, please. Please don’t…..” his pleading interrupted by another slice, this time to his right forearm. Dean stumbled, falling back on his rear end as Crowley continued to slice, over and over, with the razor sharp blade. Dean curled his butchered arms in to his stomach and leaned forward to protect them. The cuts moved to his upper arms and shoulders, his body growing colder and colder, warm blood flowed from the multiple injuries. A last desperate attempt to get through to the man,

“Crowley…..I….still….love…..you……” barely a whisper, eyelids heavy, struggling to stay awake.

Crowley was stroking his hair now, his voice far away, “I know you do, squirrel. I’ll always love you. Rest now, let it all go away.” 

His hand wasn’t there anymore, there were no more cuts, he lay in darkness, realizing he was dying and finding himself unreasonably calm about it. He thought of Sammy, the puppy dog eyes he gave when he wanted something. Little Jo, her sassy attitude and blonde pigtails. Ellen, so sweet, so kind and Bobby, the gruff way he spoke, twinkle in his eye always saying what he couldn’t.

His last thought was about Castiel. 

Why would he hear Castiel’s voice, echoing and muffled, calling his name? Using every last bit of strength, he opened his lids, just a bit, to see the bluest eyes in existence.

 

Castiel was an angel, calling him home to Heaven, taking him to his mom……


End file.
